Repeating History
by Megan Potassium
Summary: The football team couldn't win a game until a designer-wearing-countertenor pranced onto the scene. Same goes for the baseball team. Rated T for language. Various POV. Not intended to be slash.
1. Chapter 1

**-:-**

Catch, stand, step, throw, and squat. Give signal, catch, stand, step, throw, and squat. Give different signal, catch, stand step, throw, and squat. I sighed internally as my fingers moved on their own accord to give the next signal to Finn. Catch, stand, step throw, and squat. For almost an hour we have been practicing on the school field in the boiling heat, not like it going to help, we will still suck. Finn started his windup again, avoiding eye contact with me at all costs. Things have been quiet between Finn and me since Rachel cast the big secret out before sectionals; Finn and I had sort of an unspoken mutual agreement to just avoid each other. Of course it didn't help that we were our baseball team's only hope of winning a game. With Finn's wicked arm at the mound and my badassness behind the plate, we at least had a shot.

Too bad the rest of our team couldn't play to save their damn lives.

"Alright, Hudson, that's good. Puckerman, I want you to now fake to second, but throw to Pronk at short. Got it?" Coach hollered from the sidelines. I nodded once, glaring at the small blond haired boy in between second and third base. Johnny Pronk was a little rat of boy who was only on the team because his _daddy_ was the main sponsor. He couldn't catch the fucking ball even if I was right in front of him and my pinkie toe had more strength the he did. I hated Johnny Pronk. I hated him more than I hated the fact that no team I join can win a game. Well, except for glee...

Still glaring at the little shit, I went back down into my position as Finn restarted his windup for what seemed to be the hundredth time. And for what seemed to be the hundredth time, the ball whizzed towards my face, my glove darting out at the last second to make the catch. I stood quickly, aiming for short while I sold the fake to second. My arm whipped out, shooting the ball straight to Pronk's unready glove. He watched the ball fly closer to his body, but made no move to catch it. Then, just before the ball made contact with any part of him. He did something that was sure to make us the laughing stalks of the entire school.

He ducked. He fucking ducked and let the ball soar right over top of him.

"What the hell, Pronk!" I stood as I yelled at him, taking off my mask so he could get the full effect of my rage. I wasn't the only one yelling at him but I was certainly the loudest. "You don't just duck like a little princess! You use your damn glove and catch the damn ball! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Shut up, Puckerman, I wasn't ready!"

Wasn't ready? Jesus, we were never going to win. I exhaled heavily and searched for the ball. It was way at the other end of the field, just laying there all by its lonesome. Damn, I got a good arm. The only person near the ball was someone I recognized instantly. Wearing an oversized purple sweater that was most definitely bought in the girls section was Hummel.

"Hey, Kurt," Finn yelled. Hummel turned around at the call of his name, the hopeful expression on his face earning many snickers from the surrounding field. I groaned again at how oblivious Finn was. Couldn't he tell the little prom queen had a crush on him? "Wanna throw the ball back?"

Hummel looked around for the ball, and then walked, no, pranced, over and picked up the tiny ball. Insults cascaded towards him from every position on the field.

"Move in!"

"Uh oh, fag got the ball!"

"Don't hurt yourself."

"Why don't you just fly it over you fucking faerie."

Even at the other end of the field I could see how Hummel's expression turned from 'holier-than-thou' to a glare as the insults flew out of my team mates' mouths. I know I have thrown the little fruity _countertenor_ (as he has so constantly reminded us) into dumpsters on countless occasions, but that fruity _countertenor_ was on my team, and no one messes with my team mates. I just happened to be an exception to that rule.

I glared at the teens around the diamond, "Just throw the ball, Hu- Kurt." I yelled at him.

Hummel's glare moved to me for a second before he brought his arm back and prepared to throw the ball. I took a step forward, expecting to have to run up to get the ball. There is no way Kurt could throw that far. Hell, Finn probably couldn't even throw that far. Cruel laughter and insults continued from all around me, but every single one was cut off as soon as Kurt threw the ball.

Holy shit.

The ball came of his tiny grip and was in my glove in less than two seconds. A perfect throw, right to my chest. I didn't even have to move. Across the park, Kurt nodded to himself, crossed his arms, and then continued to strut to his car, fixing his hair as he walked. For the first time in a month, Finn turned and stared right at me. I'm sure that the disbelief painted so plainly on Finn's face mirrored my exactly. The entire team was dead silent, all of them turned to watch Kurt walk away. I looked from Finn's eyes to my glove, taking my hand out of the leather and staring at the large red blotch forming on my bare palm where the ball had hit.

"Hey, kid! Wait!" Our coach yelled from the sidelines, almost jumping out the dugout to get to Kurt before he could drive away. Kurt stopped his runway walk and turned to see our coach run towards him. We all watched our coach, a fat old man, run towards Kurt like he was racing to the ice cream store before it closed. The only thing moving were our jerseys blowing slightly in the small breeze that had picked up. No one could believe what they had just seen. No one could believe that Hummel, Kurt Hummel, could throw a ball like that. Our coach talked to Kurt for a few seconds before he turned around and started walking back, Kurt not far behind.

"Pronk, get off the field now!" Coach yelled. "And give your glove to Kurt."

Shit. Not good. Johnny gave Coach a dirty look before taking off his glove, throwing it down at short, and then striding off the field and sitting the dugout, where he belonged. Kurt picked up the glove with one hand and examined it with a critical eye. I snorted and laughed to myself. Kurt was probably thinking about giving the glove a makeover. He was such a girl. A girl with a strangely strong arm and no boobs.

"Alright, Kurt, Puck is going to throw you the ball, and you are going to catch it, and throw it back as fast as you can. Puck, Hudson, same drill as before, let's go!"

I put my mask back on at the same time Kurt put on the glove. Finn started his windup. The team was still quiet, watching our every move. Finn released the ball, a perfect pitch; I caught and threw the ball to Kurt.

Everything seemed to move in slow-motion as I watched. The ball flew from my hand right to Kurt's glove. I saw Kurt move his hand to catch the ball in the oversized glove and then throw it straight back at me with incredible speed and force. I caught the ball and stared, dumbstruck, at Kurt. Standing in the entrance of the dugout, our coach was smiling as big as the creepy cat from that movie my sister likes to watch...Someone in somewhere land or something.

I vividly remember my history teacher telling us that we are '_Doomed to repeat history!' _which is true; I had to take History again when I failed it. But other than that, I had no reason to believe that Hitler was just going to pop up again and start another war. I don't believe in history repeating itself, well, I didn't, until now.

"Pronk, I want you to give your jersey to Kurt until we can get him his own." Coach yelled at Johnny. Kurt smiled a big, gay smile while everyone else was _still _frozen with shock. Only two words came to mind as coach walked over and handed Kurt Johnny's jersey, with a big "Welcome to the team!" Only two words that had also appeared in my head when Kurt tried out for the football team and I knew that he was going to win us our first game.

Well fuck.

**-:-**

**Good? Bad? Horrible? Makes you want to claw your eyes out? Tell me in a review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**-:-**

"_I believe in a thing called love,"_

Left, left, right, spin, head, ball change.

"_Just listen to the rhythm of my heart,"_

Right, right, left, spin, head, ball change.

"_There's a chance we could make it now,"_

One, two, three, spin, head-.

"Ugh! Kurt, I'm sorry, can we go over it again?"

I sighed internally and refrained from rolling my eyes as I walked over to restart the song on the petit radio by the piano. Earlier in the day, Tina had asked me to go over the new dance number, seeing as she was having some trouble with it. I immediately agreed to help. One, because it was Tuesday and the hockey team would most likely be waiting outside by the dumpster, (and this sweater is a Giorgio Armani) and second, because in order for us to win at regionals, everyone had to know the routines like I knew the mall. Dancing was a mind numbing thing for me. It came almost as naturally as my fashion sense.

Unfortunately for Tina, neither came naturally to her.

I looked at the clock above the doorway. 4:00. We have been going over the routine for a good hour, and Tina was still only able to dance her way through the first verse. Mr. Schue was nice enough (or smart enough) to let us rehearse in the choir room after school for as long as Tina needs. Little did I know she needs more than just a proper hair stylist.

The song started again and I took the proper position. The guitar starts, we wait until the drums kick in to start our steps.

"_Can't explain all the feelings that you're making me feel," _

Walk forward, arm up, arm down, walk left.

"_My heart's in overdrive and you're behind the steering wheel,"_

Walk backwards, grab partner's hand, they spin in.

"_Touching you,"_

Partner spins out.

"_Touching me,"_

Let go of partner hand.

"_Touching you, god, you're touching me,"_

Jog enthusiastically to spots.

"_I believe in a thing called love,"_

Left, left, right, step, spin, head, ball change.

"_Just listen to the rhythm of my heart,"_

Right, right, left, step, spin, head, ball change.

"_There's a chance we could make it now,"_

One, two-

"Ugh! I can't do it!"

"_We'll be rocking till the sun goes down." _

For what seemed to be the hundredth time, I walked over and stopped the song. And for what seemed to be the hundredth time, Tina stared at me with apologetic eyes.

"I'm sorry; can we just call it a day and try again tomorrow?"

I looked back at the clock on the wall. The hockey team would be gone by now, they usually only waited to a maximum of fifteen minutes before their A.D.D became too overpowering.

"Sure, Tina, I will meet you in here same time tomorrow." I told her as I grabbed my bag off the bench and turned off the radio. 'The Darkness' wasn't my first choice, but Finn and Puck, although agreeing on nothing else, both thought that we did too many show tunes and not enough rock. I understood the 'too many show tunes' part, but 80's rock was not what I would follow up with. "Just try and go over the steps at home tonight, you'll get it."

Tina zipped up her oversized black sweater and smiled a small thankful smile in my direction. "Thanks Kurt, I really appreciate it."

"No problem," I said as I gathered my belongings. "See you tomorrow, Tina,"

I quickly walk out the door, heading in the direction of my car. The fastest way to my baby was to cut across the baseball field. I don't mind, we were having strangely warm weather for March. While walking, I started to dig through my bag, pushing aside my school books and products; looking for my keys. I told my dad I would be staying at the school a little longer, but I didn't specify how long exactly. I didn't want my dad to worry unnecessarily.

I found my keys and looked back up, making sure I wasn't about to walk into a picnic table or some other intimate object. I just about had a stroke when I looked up and saw a baseball team practicing on the field. Twelve oversized primates with incredible arm strength and reputations to uphold was my living nightmare. I froze for a few seconds, debating if I should take off my lavender Armani sweater as not to draw attention to myself.

"_Alright, Hudson, that's good. Puckerman, I want you to now fake to second, but throw to Pronk at short. Got it?"_

Hudson? I did a complete one eighty and searched for a tall dark head somewhere on the field. Standing on the pitcher's mound in all his 6'3 perfection was Finn. I sighed quietly and continued walking; I may be love struck but I'm not stupid. No matter how hard I wished I could stay and watch the practice, I knew that if I did, it would be as if I were walking head on into a shark tank with open wounds. Finn may be an excellent singer, a wonderful friend, and incredibly cute, but time after time he had proven his social status was more important to him than his real friends. I have a Dolce and Gabbana raincoat that still smells like grape to prove it. If the baseball team decided to harass me, Finn wouldn't do anything. He would just stand there looking sorry, and then find me later to apologize. I even know how the conversation would go.

"_Hey, Kurt, I'm sorry about yesterday," _

He would stare at me with those adorable brown eyes and I would have no choice but to accept the apology that more to do with pity than anything else.

"_It's fine, Finn, really." _I would give him a small smile and a nod while I bit my tongue against everything I wanted to say to him.

And then he would half smile and maybe pat me on the shoulder with an _"Alright man, see you at glee." _And then walk away.

It was the same every time. And it always would be the same.

Many angry voices shouting at the other end of the field distracted me for a moment from my depressing thoughts. All directed at the boy standing at short stop whose name I did not know, but had probably helped haul me into a dumpster at some point. They weren't yelling at me so I continued walking to my car, which promised me air conditioning and Lady Gaga.

I kept my eyes away from the field, keeping my head down and walking faster. I wanted to get to my car, I didn't feel safe out here, all alone and exposed. I was pretty fortunate that they hadn't noticed me yet, I started to feel better with the realization that I might actually get to my car unscathed.

"Hey, Kurt!"

_Shit! _I froze for a split second, not doubtful in the slightest that it was Finn who had called me. No jock calls me by my first name. To them, I'm known as 'the gay kid', and nothing else. I knew that if I turned around it would be like taking a solo away from Rachel. All hell would break loose. But if I didn't, the same effect would happen. Damn it! I had no choice but to turn around and face the field of jocks that were sure to jump at the opportunity to cause me some grief.

Even though I knew what would follow, I couldn't keep the hopeful expression off my face that I'm sure everyone could see. Why did I have to make this harder for myself?

Finn smiled a little, not wanting to show too much friendliness towards me because he knew he was on thin ice. His cavemen-like friends rejected any sort of communication between them and the un-popular kids at McKinley, especially those in glee. "Wanna throw the ball back?"

Ball? I quickly searched the area surrounding me, looking for a tiny white ball. A little ways in front of me, the ball was just laying there. I walked over and picked it up, feeling the familiar feel of the smooth surface, the hard ridge of the seams. On my tenth birthday my dad had given me a glove, a ball, and a bat, and had taken me out to the local field to teach me how to play. When I had gotten all the fundamentals of the game down, my dad proceeded to teach me how to play every position on the field. We would play catch for hours; my dad would circulate around the bases as I threw to him, and then move to the next position. We would break only for water, and then get right back at it with batting. I could play every position pretty well, even back catcher, although compared to Puck, who was currently catching, I wasn't good at all. I was even alright at pitching, but yet again, compared to Finn, I was awful. But I could at least get the ball across the plate. I loved playing baseball with my dad, even though we could never play a real game with only two people; it was the only time I saw my dad really smile.

"Uh oh, fag got the ball!"

The cruel insults punctured my memory, washing it away like chalk in a rainstorm. Other harsh words were flying towards me, and my eyes landed on Finn. He was staring at his feet, not making eye contact with me. I knew it would be like this. I glared at Finn for choosing popularity over me, _again._ That boy needed to get his priorities in order.

"Just throw the ball, Hu- Kurt."

My gaze shifted from an ashamed Finn to Puck. I didn't miss that he had refrained from using my surname, but had actually used my first name to call me. Also, by calling me, he had cut off some insults with a glare, which was ten times more menacing than mine. Since when did Puck stick up for me?

I decided not to look too far into that, I didn't like Puck, he had bullied me one too many times for us to make any progress as friends. I brought my arm back and threw the ball, seeing a few strands of hair escape in my peripheral vision as my arm whipped forward. I remember my dad teaching me how to throw, and him being so happy when we just threw back and forth, sometimes talking, and sometimes just throwing. I nodded to myself when Puck caught the ball, taking that as my cue to leave. As I walked, I fixed the few pieces of hair that had gotten loose. I would need a mirror to be sure my hair was perfect again...

"Hey, kid! Wait!"

I stopped walking and turned to see an obese man who needed a proper outfit and a treadmill running towards me. I noticed it was silent on the field. Dead silent. Surely they had seen someone throw a ball before; for god's sake they were on a baseball team! So why were they all staring at me like I had grown a second head?

The man finally reached me, panting heavily. I was starting to get impatient with these Neanderthals; all I wanted was to get home.

"Hey, kid," the man panted, wiping the sheen of perspiration off his forehead.

"Kurt," I corrected him, I had enough nicknames, I didn't want 'kid' to become another one.

"Right, Kurt, come with me,"

The man turned around and started walking back to the field. I was confused and a little annoyed, but I followed him nevertheless.

As we neared the diamond, I added nervous to my list. Everyone was _still _staring at me, not talking, just staring. It's not exactly the most warming welcome.

"Pronk, get off the field now!" the man (who was most likely the coach) yelled at the short stop, "and give your glove to Kurt!"

The boy threw a pathetic dirty look to the coach, then one to me, before throwing his glove down in the dirt and stomping to the dugout. The way he was acting reminded me of a spoiled toddler who didn't get what they wanted for Christmas. People tease me because I dress well, yet this boy just threw a miniature hissy fit...

I sighed internally. Life isn't fair.

I picked up the dirty glove and looked it over. It was too big and not broken in enough; the leather was still incredibly stiff. This glove had been bought recently and no one had taken the time to make it usable. Oh well, one thing I have learned in life is that you can't help all the stupid people. You can only tolerate them.

"Alright, Kurt," I looked up at the coach, waiting for whatever instructions he was going give me. I had no doubt that this had turned into an impromptu tryout for a new short stop. This is way too much like my football tryout. "Puck is going to throw you the ball, and you are going to catch it, and throw it back as fast as you can. Puck, Hudson, same drill as before, let's go!"

I put on the oversized glove and waited for Finn to start pitching. Everything seemed to move in slow-motion as I watched him pitch. The way his arms moved in synchronization with his legs, the way his arm shot forward, producing a perfect pitch with a great burst of speed. I almost wasn't ready when Puck threw me the ball because I was so distracted by Finn. It was like watching a Myron sculpture come to life. I quickly recovered and caught the ball that was flying towards my face. Just like my dad had taught me, I brought the glove back into my chest and reached into the glove, grabbing the ball and throwing it back to Puck's ready glove. Every pair of eyes was fixed on me, and if possible, the silence thickened. Puck was staring at me with an expression on his face that suggested he had just seen a ghost. Finn, on the other hand, was scowling at his Nikes. He looked so upset, betrayed, angry, I wanted to go comfort him. Call it intuition, but a small part of me was almost certain that I was the reason for that look.

"Pronk, I want you to give your jersey to Kurt until we can get him his own." I heard the coach say, ripping me out of my own little word. I smiled at how happy my dad would be when I came home with a baseball jersey. He had always wanted me to play on a team, but we never got it together to sign me up. The coach walked over and handed me a red and white jersey. "Welcome to the team!" he congratulated when I accepted the jersey.

I thought again about how proud my dad would be. How a genuine smile would light up his face, how he would give me a hug and congratulate me. He would probably offer to go throw a ball around for a while, to 'shake off the rust.' It would be such a change from the tension that hadn't left our house since that phone call that taught my dad exactly what I deal with every day. He would be so happy.

But even the thought of my dad's happiness could distract me from the little part that was sure I was the cause of Finn's anger.

"Well fuck."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Leave it to Puck to break the silence and ruin the moment.

**-:-**

**Man, Kurt is harder to write than Puck! This was going to start out as a one shot... But I am finding that I am not quite done with Kurt's baseball adventure. **

**Fun Facts!**

**When Kurt is watching Finn pitch, he compares Finn to a Myron sculpture coming to life. Myron was the famous Greek sculptor who sculpted the Olympic Discus Thrower sculpture. (How many times can we write 'sculpture' in a sentence?) **

**The song playing in the beginning is "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by **_**The Darkness.**_** This song was ****not**** on the list of songs that the glee club will be doing, I just like it :P**

**I'm not sure if Tina told everyone about faking her stutter, so let's just assume for the sake of this story that she did.**

**Up next, we will find out why Finn was so upset... **

**REVIEW! :D **


	3. Chapter 3

**-:-**

"_My teenage dream tonight, yeah I'm gonna make it happen this time. Fame!"_

I hummed along with Lady Gaga, still practically drowning in my joy. Against all the odds, I have done it; I am now a member of the McKinley High baseball team! I've shown all those no-brained jocks that I can do everything they can do when it comes to sports; and I can do it better dressed.

"_Fame, doin' it for the fame 'cause we want to live the life of the rich and famous..."_

The song came to close with the final chorus just as I came to a stop at a red light. I was in a bit of a hurry to get home, the main reason being it was now nearing seven o'clock and I haven't spoken with my dad since eight this morning. I was going to call him as soon as the coach (who I now know as 'Coach Kelly') was finished judging my skill level, but when I had pulled out my phone, much to my dismay, it was dead. So that left me practically running to my car, and speeding the whole way home to avoid the grounding that might possibly be in my future.

I tapped my fingers impatiently against the dashboard as I waited for the light to turn green. Within seconds my fingers were tapping out the beat to an Adam Lambert song. He may need to ditch the leather and add more color, but when he sang, it was border lining on heaven.

Although I may be a bit biased.

Finally the light changed, and I stomped on the gas, eager to get home. Not only to stop my dad from worrying unnecessarily, but to show him the red and white stripped jersey that was stowed away in my messenger bag. I had to wait a week before I could have my own jersey that reads 'Hummel' instead of 'Pronk', but even with someone else's name on the jersey, the symbolism is still present. That jersey means that I am good enough to be more than someone in the background. Of course I love glee, but Mr. Schuster and Rachel make it very hard to showcase any talent on my part. Baseball, although very different from glee, allows me to shine, allows me to be the star.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the _Hummel Tire and Lube _sign come into view. I drove the last little strip and pulled into the driveway; grabbing my bag and throwing the door open in my haste to get inside. I walked through the shop to the door that connected the house and the garage, pushed it open and stuck my head through, expecting my dad to be standing right in the hallway with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Not going to lie; it slightly shocked me that he wasn't. I pushed open the door and cautiously walked in the house, relaxing when I saw my dad in the kitchen with a piece of paper in his shaking hands.

"Hey, Dad," I said quietly, waiting for the storm to start, "what's that?"

My dad looked up from the paper, the glint of anger in his eyes scaring me in the slightest. "Nothing, just the mail." He placed the paper down on the counter and turned to face me. "Do you mind telling me where _the hell_ you've been?! I've been worried sick, Kurt! I knew you were staying at the school late for glee, but you could have called to tell me you would be there till seven!"

"I wasn't at glee." I said quickly, trying to stop my dad in his mini rant. "I was at-"

"Oh, you weren't at glee, so you lied too?"

"No! Dad, will you please listen?" I stopped to make sure he was going to let me explain. When he showed no signs of interrupting, I continued. "I was at glee; I was helping Tina with the new choreography. Then on the way to my car, I kind of…got caught up in something unexpected…."

"I don't want riddles, Kurt. _Where were you?_" My dad asked. His patience was running thin, so I decided to get right to the point. I reached around into my bag that was hanging off my shoulder and pulled out the jersey. I shook it out and showed it to him.

"I made the baseball team, Dad."

My dad froze, his eyes moved from my face to the jersey and he studied it for a few seconds. I could see the emotions flit across his face, the anger was slowly melting into confusion, "But, Kurt, I thought we missed the registration, it's too late to get on the team, isn't it?"

"It is; the team was practicing on the field and I was walking to my car when they asked me to throw a ball back. I threw it, then next thing I know the coach drags me to the diamond, has me run one play, and then hands me a jersey." I finished my explanation and waited for my dad to say something. Now the confusion was turning into something else. There was a new shine in my dad's eye, a shine that I rarely see, but always want to. My dad was proud of me.

"Kurt, that's…" he looked at a loss for words as he walked forward and took the jersey out of my hands, examined the front for a brief second, before turning it over and looking at the back. "Not… your name…" The confusion was back as he saw someone else's name where mine should be.

"I know. I have to wait a week before I get my own, but the coach basically kicked this kid off the team and gave me his spot." I tried not to laugh as I saw my dad's eyes widen. No one was going to believe that I replaced someone on the team. But that is what made it so much better. I don't like to think of myself as vindictive, but I can't deny that it felt good to come from behind and show the jocks that I am just as good (if not better) at baseball. This was like my own personal revenge for every dumpster toss, every slushie, every cruel name, every phone call…

"Kurt, that's amazing." My dad said as he bunched up the jersey in his fist and wrapped me in a hug which I gladly returned. "I am so proud of you."

I could feel my throat closing with emotion. "Thanks, Dad." I managed to choke out, being relatively pleased when my voice didn't betray me. My dad pulled away and held up the jersey again. I looked at it for what seemed to be the hundredth time. Most of the jersey was hidden behind dirt, but that was nothing a wash or two couldn't fix. The bright red was a trademark of the jocks at McKinley, a color that apparently suited me well, according to Finn.

I internally sighed as I thought of Finn and how angry he had looked at the practice. He didn't look me once in the eye, and every time he threw the ball to me, he would turn away as soon as the ball was out of his hand. I'm sure I was the cause of his anger, yet I had no idea what I did to provoke him.

"So what position?"

"Hmm?" All my worries about Finn drained away as my dad pulled me from my train of thought.

"What position are you playing?"

"Short stop," I said quickly, smiling as I thought about how that Johnny boy had thrown a tantrum when I was given his position.

My dad smiled, "God," he sighed as he turned to look at me, "My son, the short stop." I cringed as he ruffled my hair, which was already messy and unkempt from the helmet I had to wear while batting. "Whoops, sorry." My dad laughed as he tried to fix my hair for me. I chuckled slightly at his wasted attempts.

"It's fine, Dad." I swatted his hand away from my head and brushed a few wild strands away from my eyes.

"Hey, how about I go and find our gloves, you're probably tired, but maybe tomorrow we could go throw a ball around."

"Sure, Dad, that sounds great."

I smiled again as my dad nodded and walked to the hallway where the storage closet was kept. I could hear the groan of the wood and the thumping as my dad went through the contents. I walked over to the counter and put my belongings down. I sat the table and looked around; noticing the paper my dad was looking at before, I idly wondered what about this paper made him so upset, so I reached across the table and grabbed it. It was addressed to The Hummels, so I turned it over, looking at the front. What I saw on the page had the smile fade off my face almost instantly.

Someone had cut out my yearbook picture and had written insults like _fairy, fruitcake, _and the ever so popular _fag_ across my face. First I was surprised that someone would put this much effort into insulting me, then I was outraged that someone would put this much effort into insulting me, and would give it to my dad. That was sick. The piece of paper fell out my hands as I realized the jersey did in fact mean that I was good enough to be more than someone in the background, but it was also another way for people to remind me that I didn't belong.

On a baseball team, the players are referred to by their positions. Finn is known as 'The Pitcher', Puck as 'The Back Catcher'. Mike is known as 'Second Base', and Matt is known by 'Center Field'. The same goes for every player on the field. It was just away for the other team or the fans to get our attention. It was like a second name that everyone had. The one rule was no variations of this name, and no exceptions to that rule.

No exceptions… Except me.

Before I had taken his spot, Johnny was 'The Short Stop', the regular name of his respective position, just like Finn and Puck. I would never just be 'The Short Stop'. It was the same for football, Finn was the 'QB', and Puck was 'Left Tackle'. I hadn't been just 'The Kicker'.

I had been 'The Gay Kicker'.

And now I was 'The Gay Short Stop'.

It wouldn't matter how many games I helped win, or how many jocks I replaced. My second name would always be one insult longer then everyone else's.

Always.

**-:-**

**Fun Facts!**

**1) I lied. We don't find out what is wrong with Finn in this chapter.**

**2) This chapter is meaner than I planned, but I wrote this on the spot.**

**3) The Lady Gaga song Kurt was listening to was "Fame", off her first album, ****The Fame.**

**4) The Adam Lambert song Kurt was listening to was "If I Had You," off his first album For Your Entertainment.**

**5) ****It's possible to lead a cow upstairs...but not downstairs.**

**6) This is un-beta-ed (is that a word…?) so any silly mistakes are mine. **

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…**pweese? **


	4. Chapter 4

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I took the last turn into the student lot and parked in the first available spot I could find. Turning off the radio, I jumped out my car, singing the last verse of "Roxie" under my breath. I grabbed my bag and shut the door, turning towards the school. A few students were outside enjoying the warm weather before the bell brought them inside, but what had me worried was the small group of jocks standing beside the dumpster; Johnny right in the front, arms crossed and glaring. I kept my head straight forward and tried to pay them no mind as I walked towards the school doors.

"Not so fast fairy." A voice sounded from behind. An arm wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me away from the school, leading me to the group of jocks. "We just want to have a little chat."

_This isn't good!_ I screamed in my head. I was pushed into the center of the circle roughly and steadied by a strong hand on my shoulder, spinning me around. I came face to face with Johnny; literally. Hadn't he ever heard of personal space?

"Hello there, Hummel," He said with a slight evil grin. "How do you like it on the baseball team, huh?"

I didn't answer. I just stood there, staring right back at him. He shoved me backwards and my back slammed against the dumpster. His hand was on my shoulder again, keeping me in place. "Did you know that my girlfriend broke up with me because I am no longer first string?" He spat at me, "Or did you know that my dad said it was probably for the best since I can't play anyways?"

"It's not my fault you have daddy issues!" I spat right back. Outrage crossed his face and I cringed as he brought his other arm back. I heard a loud metallic bang as his fist collided with the metal beside my head.

"What did you say to me, homo?"

I slowly opened my eyes and looked at him, "you heard me." I said slowly, pausing for a second, "I said it's not my fault you have daddy issues."

His face twisted with anger, "you little shit," he muttered quietly before he pushed me over. I fell right into the arms of another jock who wrapped his massive hands around my upper arms. I felt two more hands grabbing my ankles, hoisting me into the air.

"No-" I tried to protest, but they had already swung me over the side of the dumpster and shut the lid.

"Try to get out this one, fag,"

I ignored the names and pushed against the lid. It didn't move.

They locked it.

They never lock it. I've lost count of how many times I have been thrown in the dumpster, but they _never _lock it. I banged against the side only to be met with laughter. I could feel something wet soaking through my jacket onto my skin and I immediately sat up, hitting my head on the lid. I swore under my breath and slammed my fist against the side. It quieted outside; they must have left. I just sat there, occasionally hitting the side. I was a little scared. I didn't know how long I would be here, just sitting in the trash. I sighed again, wincing at the smell. Groaning loudly, I hit the side and then jumped a little when a voice came from other side.

"Uh, hello?"

My heart leaped a little at the voice; it was Finn's. I was saved.

"Finn?" I asked quietly. I would know his voice anywhere, but I needed to make sure.

It was quiet for a second before Finn cursed and lifted the lid. I cringed a little when the light hit my eyes; my head still hurt from hitting it.

"Come on," Finn said, motioning for me to jump out. I grabbed the side and lifted my legs over, stumbling a little when my feet hit the ground.

"Thanks,"

Finn looked over at me and half smiled. He obviously still wasn't over his problem. His eyes moved from my face to my jacket and he grimaced. "Ugh, not going to lie Kurt, that's gross."

I looked down at my clothes and sighed. "Yeah, that tends to happen." A large stain that would take some serious work to get out was displayed on the front of my Gucci jacket. I could still feel the dampness on my back.

"Why do you always get involved with the jocks?"

My head shot up and I looked at Finn, "What?"

He studied his shoes, "Why do you always get involved with the jocks, you _know_ they are going to harass you,"

I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped. Hearing no _just kidding _from Finn, I had to believe that he was serious. "You think I ask to be thrown into dumpsters?"

"No," his head shot up and he stared at me, "It's just... maybe if you tried harder at blending in and staying where you belong you wouldn't have these problems!"

Staying where I belong? Blending in? The boy was making no sense. "I don't want to 'blend in', Finn, that's not who I am."

He threw his hands in the air and took a step towards me, "we're in high school, Kurt! You're not supposed to be yourself!"

"What is your problem?" I yelled right back, taking a step away from him.

"My problem is you."

I felt the hurt spread across my face. "Me?" I asked quietly, hating the way I sounded so lost.

"Yes, you." He looked down at me with angry brown eyes, "You just come and go as you please on to the school teams and you get no more abuse than usual. I was at the top of the school, but as soon as I join glee, I'm in the bathroom three times a week washing corn syrup off my face. You're doing that already but you join the football team and nothing changes."

I was actually shocked into silence by Finn's speech. Did he honestly believe that nothing changes? "You think nothing changes?" I asked slowly, making sure I was hearing him correctly.

"Yeah, I do."

"You have_ no_ idea." I said, shaking my head slowly.

He mashed his lips together and turned his head. "But you're used to it, Kurt. It doesn't bother you."

A wave of intense anger swept over me. So intense that my vision was tinted red. I wanted to grab Finn's wide shoulders and shake him until he understood, but I couldn't move I was so angry. "I'm used to it?" I asked quietly. Finn didn't look up, he just closed his eyes. "Please, Finn, tell me how you get used to being thrown in a dumpster. Tell me how you get used to having iced drinks in your face. Tell me how you get used to being locked in the janitor's closet because some jocks find the irony amusing." I paused in my mini rant and let out an exasperated chuckle, "you know, Finn, you need to look past your nose and realize that world isn't revolving around you and your crises."

That got his attention. Finn looked from the trees over to my eyes, my anger mirrored on his face. "Nothing would have changed if I hadn't joined the baseball team and you know what Finn? That _does _bother me."

"You don't belong there."

It was only four words, but they pierced right through me. Not only because they were true, but because they were coming from Finn. Anyone else and I would have had a comeback ready so fast they wouldn't know what hit them. But not Finn.

I swallowed once and looked at the ground. "You're right." I said quietly. But just then everything rushed the front of my mind. The look on my dad's face when I walked through the door; the pride in his eyes when I told him I made the team; the hurtful words written across my face. All of it rushed back and I clenched my jaw. "But I'm not quitting. You know why? You know why I'm not going to quit? Because when I told my dad I made the team it was one of the few times he was ever proud of me." I spat the words at Finn. I couldn't believe I was telling him this, but I couldn't stop; it was like word vomit.

"I'm not quitting and I am going to do my damned best at the game tomorrow to try and keep that look in my dad's eyes." I finished my little speech and grabbed my bag off the ground. "Thanks for the help." I half snarled at Finn. I brusquely walked past him into the school, fighting my tears.

Finn had no idea.

**-:-**

A/N: Better late than never... I somewhat lost my muse for this story, but I want to get it finished. This started as a one shot, but has since turned into a tiny fic. There will probably be one to two more chapters so keep your eyes peeled for those!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! It really means a lot! And thank you to everyone who put this on story alert and favourites!

If you check out my profile, not only are there some awesome videos for your viewing pleasure (there is a video of Chris Colfer when he was 16!) But there is a list of unposted stories. Check those out and vote for the fic you want to see! :)

Also, HAPPY 20th BIRTHDAY CHRIS COLFER! You are AMAZING!

Reviews = Happy Megan!

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P.S: Yes I did get a few lines of dialogue in this chapter from "Theatricality". This takes place before the back 9 so it doesn't really matter... But Mike O'Mally (Kurt's dad) deserves an Emmy for that scene where he (rightfully) verbally kicks Finn in the nads. It was incredible.


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